The Dark Days: A Prequal to the Harry Potter Series
by Raw Sewage Writings
Summary: Spies of the Dark Lord are everywhere, even within the ranks of the Ministry of Magic. No one can be trusted and hope is quickly fading. It is a time of war and they are dark days...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The Bearded Man

January's chill was crisp with a stinging bite. As Terry Yale walked down the sidewalk he pulled on the collar of his coat. Terry usually didn't take to London's streets late at night, but he couldn't sleep. Too much was happening, too much was on his mind and he was constantly vigilant. For an Auror, vigilance was a good thing, a skill that was greatly encouraged. But the negative side was an overactive mind, restless and unrelenting when the rest of his body was tired. So he took a walk. The leisurely pace was consoling but the bite of the cold was bitterly uncomfortable. Instead, Terry felt he was more awake than ever. The street lamps to his side, poorly illuminated the sidewalk. Hardly any lights shone through closed shades on the windows of the homes to his right. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw it; the green flash. His focus suddenly snapped like a hunting dog catching a scent. In the distance, voices could be heard. Across the street, behind the cover of trees and a brush-grown gate, was a park, emitting with the sounds of struggle. Terry sprinted into action, striding across the black street to the gate. Stopping at the black, metal bars he paused and listened. Cracks and pops filled the air, laced with an occasional growl and groan. He quickly gripped the top intersecting bar of the gate and heaved himself over it. He dropped into a roll on the grass, whipping his wand from the sheath strapped under his shoulder beneath his coat. Upon emerging from his roll, his hazel eyes had only a second to process the duel before him. Standing over the crumpled figure of a man was another, tall and broad. His long coat swayed around his shins as rotated his attacks at any of the four, dark clothed men that approached. Each of them were vicious with their attacks, waving their wands about, launching blasts from deadly spells. Terry noticed as the tall man blocked a curse from one of the attackers, the man behind him sharply whipped his wand. With deadly accuracy, Terry jabbed his wand in the attacker's direction casting a blast of red energy. The attacker was instantly thrown off his feet and flung across the park. Terry redirected his next spell to another black, robed attacker. From underneath the hood of an attacker, a silver masked face turned his direction, confirming his suspicion. Death Eaters. The dark wizard took a step towards Terry, wand held aloft over his hooded head. The blinding green jet of light surged at him but Terry sent it away with a flick of his wrist. The Death Eater persisted but Terry dodged the second attack before sending a spell of his own. The Death Eater was stunned to the ground, landing hard on his back. His hood dropped from his head, revealing long blonde hair bound in a tail. Before Terry could attack any further, the man suddenly twisted then popped into thin air.

"On your left," bellowed a strong, broad voice. Terry turned just in time to watch one of the Death Easters charge his way. The dark wizard haphazardly threw curse after curse. Terry deflected them using his own wand, with pristine technique. The tall, long jacketed man cast a spell from behind, knocking the Death Eater off his feet. Terry swerved from the tumbling wizard's path then searched about the dark, openness of the park. The final standing Death Eater looked to both Terry and the other man before suddenly launching straight into the air in a plume of black smoke. Terry watched the Death Eater's trail arch away in the night sky.

"Oh no he doesn't," Terry growled. He took off again, ignoring any gruff words coming from the tall man behind him. Terry clambered over the gate again and threw himself from the top, planting his feet firmly on the road. He watched the Death Eater's smoking trail streak just above the sidewalk. It didn't matter how strange this was, Terry went for it, following after in the cold night air. Terry's breathing ran ragged as he chased relentlessly. A mist hung eerily in the cold air, shrouding the strange activity from on looking muggles. His focus on the raging gust of darkness surging down the street was broken as it suddenly turned sharply around the corner. Within seconds, Terry darted around into the alley, splashing in a puddle without care as he ran. Still in a fully fledged sprint, he unexpectedly crashed into the fence which blocked the alley in half. He spun around, scanning furiously to catch a glimpse of his quarry. Terry quickly raised his wand but was unable to utter a word. The gust of darkness violently swooped down from above and materialized into a grizzly man. Shrouded in a dark, grime ridden robe while glaring at him with a ravening mad stare, Terry choked from the tight seizing grip from the man's dirt encrusted hand on his throat. He returned a vicious glare as the man jabbed his wand into his temple.

"You're in over your head there, meddling in other people's business," he said in a threatening growl. The man's breath was rancid. Terry tried to force an insult through his constricted windpipe but only managed a gurgling snarl. As the man cackled, Terry spotted a figure down at the edge of the alley. Careful not to attract the man's attention, Terry only acknowledged the figure from the corner of his eye. "Any last words?" the man taunted. Terry snapped his gaze to the tall man in the distance.

"Now!" he forced through the man's grip.

"Stupefy," bellowed the figure. His voice thundered in an echo down the high walls of the alley as a burst of glowing power soared in the air. The blast struck the man before he could turn and face his attacker. Terry allowed the fresh flow of air into his lungs, gasping in his struggle. He rubbed his neck gingerly as he watched the man slump onto the concrete ground of the alley with satisfaction. As Terry knelt beside the subdued man, he checked his vitals and rolled him onto his back. The other man approached him, his long billowing trench coat flowing from behind. His face was aged with creases gained only through an experienced life. Behind his bushy eyebrows were the bluest, sharpest eyes, eyes he'd seen before though couldn't quite pin down where. His face was full as was his build. His long ginger-greyed hair was pulled back into a horsetail. His entire jaw-line was submerged in a thick, trimmed beard. Had he not have came to Terry's rescue, he'd probably have mistaken him as another grisly hostile. The man stooped with a grin as he too inspected the subdued dark wizard.

"You know, what you did back there was rather handy," he said cheerily. "Name's Abe." A large hand was offered before Terry's face. Without hesitation, Terry grasped it and shook briskly.

"Terry Yale," he replied.

"Well Terrence, let's see who we have," Abe grunted as he shifted closer to the man. He reached into his coat and extracted a small palm-sized book. He opened it to a random page and touched the man's forehead with his wand. Terry glanced over Abe's shoulder and watched as a handwritten name magically scrawled across the page. "Aw, Warren Verris," Abe exclaimed. "Scrimigoure will be pleased." Terry frowned, wondering how the wizard knew of the tough as nails head of the Auror Department, Rufus Scrimigoure. "Terrence you're an Auror are you not?" he asked casually as he pocketed his book. Terry stared at Abe cautiously before answering.

"I am," he replied hesitantly.

"Thought you were, I've seen you about the Department," he said.

"Funny," Terry shot back. "Because I've never seen you before." Terry stood his ground defensively watching Abe with sudden alertness. Catching the young Auror's tone, Abe turned to glance over his shoulder.

"Calm down boy," he scoffed. "I'm no Death Eater. Though I applaud you're caution." Terry eased his rigid stance.

"Well with all these deaths and disappearances, we all need to be." Abe glanced back over his shoulder and fixed a surveying stare on him. Terry felt he recognized such scrutiny before but struggled in his mind to remember where. He then grinned at Terry through his beard. Terry's expression suddenly drooped into shock as he remembered the confrontation just minutes ago.

"The other guy, your pal, is he alright?" he asked with concern. Abe's grin then faded as he shook his head.

"No, he was killed. I already took care of his body," he assured him.

"I'm sorry," Terry mumbled.

"Don't be," Abe shot. "I'd be with him if you hadn't shown." Terry sighed. Another death and casualty to the war. Terry had graduated the final year at the Auror Academy only four years ago and had childishly high hopes for a quick end to the conflict, but like a plague, its darkness had only spread. Abe stood up finally and pocketed his wand as he cleared his throat.

"Well, if you'd excuse me, I've got to send this one away," he said as he grabbed Verris' arm and dragged him from the fence. "Good evening, Terrence." With that, both he and the incapacitated Death Eater folded into a morphed swirl and popped out of sight. A tiny wisp of a breeze kicked a discarded newspaper about from the resounding pop. Terry checked his watch on his wrist; 2:41. Terry surveyed the area around him to make sure he wasn't being watched before then disappaparating himself, leaving the alley way without a trace. A moment later, Terry appeared at the doorstep of his second floor apartment. He glanced around the hallway briefly before waving his wand at the lock on the door and stepping inside The moment the door was locked and closed, he shuffled to the couch against the wall and dropped onto the cushions. Though he shut his eyes, no sleep was ever going to fall over him that night


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A Drink with Roddrick Fellant

Checking his watch briefly, Terry looked back up and peered through the bustling ocean of robed men and women of various ages and sizes. His eyes scanned their faces, disregarding them at first sight. The face he searched for just wasn't there. Though the lighting was poor the night before, he would never forget those striking blue eyes and the tall man they belonged to. Terry's mind was able to push the memory to the back but every now and then, it emerged to the front of his conscience. Behind him the water fountain of the Ministry of Magic trickled in the pool. Along the sides of the black marbled walls reaching to the far end of the large chamber were flares of green flame as many of the ministry workers moved to the exits to leave after their full day of work. With a sigh, he checked his watch again. Time to return to his desk. He stood up and tugged down on his jacket. As he turned to head back down through the flow of robed workers, he halted abruptly in his tracks.

"Geez, Fellant," Terry exclaimed stepping back from the short unshaven wizard standing in his way. "Didn't notice you there."

"Oh pardon me," Roddric Fallant said with a small grin through the mess of black hair on his face. "Yes I do beg your pardon."

"It's fine," Terry replied awkwardly. He tried to back away slightly but found himself stuck between Fellant and the fountain.

"By any chance do you know of the Goblin's Goblet?" Fellant inquired. Terry's eyebrows rose in suspicion, eyeing the fellow Auror.

"Yes it's a pub, one of my frequents actually," Terry replied.

"Ah splendid," Fellant exclaimed. "You see, I'm supposed to meet some mates there, but they forgot to tell me the way. I'd try Floo powder but you can only imagine the sort of place I'd end up in," he said with a shiver. "Anyway, could I accompany you?" he asked. Terry felt caught off guard; how could Fellant have known he was intending on going to the pub in the first place? Either way, Fellant was an Auror like himself whom sat at a cubicle just across from his own.

"Sure," Terry nodded with a brief smile.

"Splendid," Fellant exclaimed again. Terry turned to face the stream of ministry workers, glancing over to Fellant warily before looking out over the crowd once again. The mysterious, bearded man was nowhere to be seen. As he started down to a fireplace set in the black, marble wall, he began to wonder whether he really did meet him at all.

The sign creaked on its hinges as it was pushed by the slight breeze. Two figures suddenly popped out of thin air beneath the sign, before the doorway. Terry glanced over at Fellant and clapped his shoulder before entering the dark, brick building. Fellant looked above his head at the two intertwining metal 'G's. Terry had stepped up to the bar of the dimly lit area. Many men all huddled around one corner of the bar, all listening intently with enthusiasm on their faces and mugs of mead in their grips. The center of their attention, a boxlike radio with a dial and speaker on the front. A bright, very annunciated voice spoke through the grille, announcing the events of a Quidditch match. Terry didn't pay much attention; instead he motioned to the bartender for his usual. As the short man slid a mug of ale in front of him. Fellant sidled to his right.

"What about your friends?" Terry asked the scruffy wizard. As Fellant removed his long robe-like coat, he laughed and pulled himself onto a stool.

"Must not be here yet. Thought you and I could get to know each other," he suggested. Terry lowered his mug then looked to his right. Fellant was not too much older than himself but was very peculiar. Terry never made it a point to associate himself with anyone from work. Not that he was an antisocial person; in fact he had quite a few friends as a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was one of the brightest of all the Ravenclaws in his year and fairly popular. It wasn't till after the final phase of Auror training he became recluse. "You joined the department last year?" Fellant inquired. Terry took a drink before shaking his head in reply.

"No, two years."

"Aw, two," Fellant said airily. For the next hour, Fellant rambled on, talking to Terry about his own experience in the Department and Terry would just listen. In the course of the single sided conversation, Fellant noted he was a student of Hufflepuff House at Hogwarts. Terry had given a sidelong smirk at his mention of his house; in a way it fit him. Terry's mind slipped away from the moment as once again, his train of thought rested on the mysterious man from the night before. Again through the traffic of thoughts bustling about his conscience, those sharp, blue eyes bothered him. He'd seen such eyes before. Finally it got to the point where his curiosity over flowed from his thoughts to his voice.

"Roddrick," he interrupted the Auror mid sentence. Fellant dropped away to silence as he looked up Terry. "You've been in the department for a while, no?" Terry inquired with a distant look on his face. Fellant nodded as he tipped back his own mug. Smacking his lips as he placed it back on the bar, he cleared his throat.

"Six, almost seven years," answered. Pausing with thought, Terry glanced around him before continuing.

"Are you familiar with a man, he's an Auror, tall, long hair and bearded," Terry inquired. Fellant watched him blankly before his face snapped into its cheerful, round expression.

"I'd say I wasn't, but then again you did just describe almost half of the department." Fellant mused with a smile. Terry gave a small smirk which only lasted a flash of a second. After a moment's pause, Fellant chuckled as he rose his mug and finished his drink. The last of the amber colored liquid emptied into his mouth then he lightly placed the mug on the bar. "Well," he said; pausing to relieve the build up of gas, burping into his closed mouth. "Guess that's it for me." He pat Terry on the "See ya tomorrow Terry. Just at that moment, a roar of cheers erupted from the corner around the radio as the brightly voiced commentator announced a scored goal. Terry lent only a sideways glance at them as he reached for his mug. As he tried to grasp the smooth glass handle however, his grip closed on nothing and he felt himself suddenly squeezed tight and spinning uncontrollably. The bar, the Quidditch fans, everything was gone, replaced by a dark, back alley. Terry instantly snapped into a solid stance, dipping his hand into his jacket. As he shuffled around the cramped alley with wide open eyes, his feet splashed in the puddle. One single light produced from a bulb beside the back door of the tavern, shone poorly. The only movement his eyes caught was that of the few insects fluttering around the light. Suddenly from the shadowy corners of the alley, two black robed figures slipped into view. Their hoods concealed their identities but their intentions reeked through their dark stares. Terry didn't wait to allow them any chance to act. He swiftly pulled his wand from his jacket and flicked his wrist with a sweeping motion. Diverting focus only for a moment, the right most Death Eater deflected the spell while his comrade thrust maliciously with his own wand. With a violent jolt, Terry was thrown against the wall. He immediately felt his body seize solid as he was pinned against the rough brick of the building beside him. He groaned and fought against the immense force, trying to pry his arms from the wall. The Death Eater took slow steps forward, slightly cocking his hooded head to one side as he glared at Terry with his wand still focused tightly on him. Growling with the strain of fighting against the enchanted influence, he suddenly kicked out with both legs. His gangly build reached out in front, kicking back the approaching Death Eater square in the chest and the wand out of the others hand. As the slim wooden wand spun away into the shadows of the alley, Terry suddenly dropped to the hard ground on his rear end. The pain throbbed but he fought through it, quickly rolling aside as the kicked Death Eater jabbed his wand vigorously

"Crucio," the shadowy figure snarled. The spell narrowly missed. Terry scrambled to his feet, waving his arm which tossed a metal trashcan off the ground and into the path of the Death Eater. He rolled aside, dodging the flying trashcan. The first Death Eater, still dazed from Terry's attack fell by the impact. He quickly scrambled to his feet, spinning round for only a moment, glaring back at Terry before suddenly disappearing in a swirling haze of black mist.

"Wait!" the second figure suddenly burst. Terry snapped his gaze at the remaining Death Eater. The two met each others gaze; even through the shadow of his hood. As the Death Eater arced his arm over his hood with his wand directed at Terry, he snarled the prefix of a curse.

"Ava-"

"Diffindo!" Terry growled jabbing his own wand. The slick, shot of light struck the Death Eater center mass. The robed figure wobbled in place on his feet before collapsing to his knees with a splash in the puddle. Terry exhaled slowly, attempting to regain control of his breathing. The Death Eater's own breathing was ragged as a gurgling sound seeped through the shadow of his hood. Finally the dark wizard dropped onto his back. It wasn't till Terry approached the Death Eater that he noticed both the growing blotch of maroon blood seeping over the chest of his robes. He also suddenly noticed just how short the wizard was. Taking only a moment to sort through the instantaneous events, he suddenly realized exactly what happened. With a trained swirl of his wand, Terry aimed his spell at the fallen wizard.

"Revelio," he muttered. Suddenly the black hood and robe disappeared in a plume of black mist. The shadow robes had quickly become the signature of the Dark Lord's forces. Often in times, the Death Eaters also adorned metal, skeletal masks. They were mere enchantments which shrouded the caster just like a real sewn robe. Left behind was the figure of the attacker. Terry groaned and shook his head in disbelief. Of all people, Roddrick Fellant was not one he suspected as a Death Eater. Terry subconsciously stepped back from the body. Suddenly remembering all that had happened in the battle, he turned away. "Lumos," he muttered, flicking his wand gently. At the tip, an aura of pure white light glowed with only the softest, lightest over tone humming around the orb. He directed the light low into the shadowy corner of the alley, only needing a moment to find what he was after. There laying on the black, concrete ground was the discarded wand he'd kicked from the second Death Eater's grasp. He grinned slightly as he stooped to pick it up. The smooth, bright wood was relatively short. He handled it carefully as he inspected it. As he took in every detail, the memory that he had at once considered pursing a career as a Wandsmith passed over his mind completely. Suddenly the wand burst into flames in his grasp. He felt the flames sear his hand for the seconds in which he still grasped it. Still on fire, the wand clattered on the ground. Terry shook the pain away from his hand as he watched the fire burn away the wand on the ground. Quickly he waved his wand and muttered an incantation. "Aguamenti," he said desperately. The conjured jet of water showered over the burning wand. The fire however, fought back and in the wake of the confrontation, steam rose from the spot on the ground. Terry gave up with a puzzled stare, lowering his wand and watching as the fire continued to burn. Within a matter of seconds, the darkened, corroded wood of the wand disintegrated into a pile of ash and the flames slowly swallowed themselves and died away. Terry groaned with frustration. Identifying the owner of a wand was easily possible with the entire intact wand; but the remains? He squatted to the ground and reached into his jacket and pulled out a thin glass vial. Pointing his wand at the pile of ash, he muttered another incantation. "Tergeo." Instantly, the ash siphoned into his wand like a vacuum home picking up dust. He then tipped his wand into the rim of the vial. "Vacuo," he said. The ash then poured like sand through an hourglass into the vial. Terry was sure to collect all of it, going back to the pile four twice more. As he pushed the small cork into the rim of the vial, he shook his head and swore under his breath; he had no idea what good this was going to be. Suddenly four distinct pops all resonated over each other. Terry felt surrounded by the sounds, and the gusts of wind which pushed against him from each corner of the alley.

"Expeliarmus!" bellowed one voice. Terry suddenly felt his wand fly from his grip and a stinging sensation smack his hand. He however had no time to think about it though.

"Stupefy," rang a witch's voice. A sudden jet of pink flashed by his eyes and he felt the impact smack him down to the ground. His head felt dizzy as the alley suddenly began to spin. Another witch's voice muttered an incantation.

"Incarcerous," she said stiffly. Terry suddenly felt his arms clench closely to his sides along with his ankles. Terry wriggled on the ground and strained against the thin glowing cords wrapped around his body.

"Oh come on!" Terry growled; still writing on the ground. The four figures briskly closed in around him, wands aimed and ready. "You got the wrong guy! I'm an Auror, damn it," he shouted. He couldn't believe he was in this position. As he looked up into the faces of his captives, he recognized them as comrades from the department.

"Check him, Janine," a tall, slender wizard ordered. With her wand still leveled, Janine Wallow approached Terry and roughly reached down to his jacket. She grabbed the panel and wrenched it aside to reveal a small, round badge concealed on the inside. The badge was the exact same as her own and every other Auror she knew. She looked back up at the slender Auror with his large eyes still fixed on Terry and nodded in approval.

"Frank," called out the other witch. "Frank, its Fellant!" Frank Longbottom's gaze broke away from Terry as he noticed Fellant's bleeding body. His attention snapped back onto Terry with a stern look on his thin yet mousy, face.

"Did you do this?" he demanded, kneeling beside him with his wand still trained on him. Terry groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, yes I did. I didn't have a choice, he attacked me first." As he listened to Terry, the revered Auror, Frank Longbottom, scrutinized him with a patronizing stare.

"Oh really," he said in a slight mock. "And why's that?" Terry groaned again as he impatience mounted.

"Cause I'm the good guy and he's the bad guy, he's a Death Eater," Terry barked. The other witch scoffed obnoxiously.

"What? Fellant?"

"Fellant, a Death Eater," Frank scoffed as he roughly pulled Terry to his feet. "Now I've heard it all. I went to school with that guy."

"I'm serious," Terry barked again. Without a single word more from any of the four Aurors, Terry felt the squeezing, spiraling sensation of apparation once again.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sacked

With stiff movements, Frank Longbottom placed down the three items he'd found in Terry's jacket. Alongside his Auror badge and wand was the small glass vial with the ashes of the Death Eater's wand still bottled inside. The slender, lanky Auror behind him took a step backwards and stood solidly with his hands behind his back. With golden, slim eyes, the man seated behind the desk stared silently at the items. His hands were clasped in front of him on the desktop, his thin lips slightly pursed with reproach. On the bridge of his pointed nose were wire framed glasses. Rufus Scrimgeour over looked Terry whom stood before him with an anxiously annoyed expression on his face. As he opened his mouth, his tongue parted the roof of his mouth with a dry smack.

"You may go, Longbottom," he said with a reserved, almost gentle tone. Frank nodded at Scrimgeour, giving a sideways glance at Terry before turning away. With a creak, the door opened then closed with gentle care. The room was silent. Terry hated it, feeling as if Scrimgeour refused to acknowledge him as his gaze dropped back to his desk, observing a pair of documents pinned together. The silence was finally broken, as a tawny owl seated on a post hooted distantly. With a long fingered hand, Scrimgeour flicked his wand at a metal filing cabinet. The bottom drawer shot open with a clang and suddenly a single gray colored folder flew from the mix of files. Without breaking eye contact with the open folder on his desk, the stern faced man caught it with one awaiting hand. Though Terry was surprised and rather impressed with the display of the man's talent, he didn't know it, anxious for what was awaiting him. "Sit," he finally said with his hushed, smooth tone. His reverent voice was almost worse than that of a gruff shout and Terry dreaded every second of it. Terry drew back the chair opposite Scrimgeour and slowly seated himself, cautious over keeping a good posture. As his eyes fidgeted nervously, he looked from the name plaque on the desk to the man seated opposite him, noting his hair was the exact same color as that of the owl seated on the post in the right corner of the bare office. Compared to the rest of the Department, the office to the Chief Auror was orderly and clean; not covered by numerous documents and enchanted pictures of wanted witches and wizards posted to the walls of the many cubicles which covered the floor of the work area. Terry then looked to the owl, only barely flinching when he noticed the bird's big, round, black eyes boring on him. Uncomfortable by the owl's stare, he looked back to Scrimgeour. The Department Head's gaze was like a scrutinizing hawk; though the rest of his features resembled that of a lion. Terry felt no better from Scrimgeour's gaze wishing he could go back to looking at the owl. "Let's take a glance at your jacket shall we," he said as he opened the gray file on his desk. First thing that caught Terry's eye was an enchanted picture of himself, standing solidly, staring straight at the ceiling. He remembered the day the photograph was taken; fresh out of the Auror Academy and eager to start making a difference. Scrimgeour flipped the picture over and looked down at the document inside. After a moment of browsing his information, he read out loud. "Yale, Terrence Ulyph. Blood status, Muggle-born. Graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, class of '75. N.E.W.T.s scores 'Outstanding' in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Charms, Transfiguration and," he paused as he looked at Terry over the frame of his glasses. "Divination?" he finished as if in a question. Terry looked back at him, feeling sick in his stomach and a clammy wave surge through his insides. Scrimgeour's tantalizing gaze fell back on the file. "Aw, here's something, 'graduate of the Accelerated Auror Studies Program," he read with a mockingly impressed nod of approval. His eyes suddenly shot back on Terry. Scrimgeour's gaze was torturous, never revealing a single thought. Slowly, he closed the file and leaned back in his large, leather desk chair. "It's quite a shame for this department to lose such intellect." Terry gasped and readjusted his seat.

"Sir please," he began to protest.

"What was it that Mr. Starlin said the last time you reported to his office?" Scrimgeour asked. Terry sighed as he rubbed his bewildered face with his hand roughly.

"He said that the next time I'm called in, I might have to clear out my cubicle," Terry recited.

"You've had three write ups for Muggle witnesses and now this." Scrimgeour fixed Terry with his hawk-like stare. "One of my Auror's is dead by your hand."

"Are you sure Roddrick Fellant was still one of your men?" Terry shot back with a cold stare of his own. Scrimgeour's bushy eyebrows rose with surprise.

"Treason is a serious accusation. You better have proof."

"You want your proof, check Fellant's wand," Terry replied coolly, retracting his anger as best as he could. He inadvertently glanced around the room before leaning forward slightly. "The last spell he cast was the Cruciatus Curse."

"That means nothing, the three curses are within our jurisdiction," Scrimgeour stated stiffly.

"Yeah well had I not stopped him, I'd be dead," Terry persisted. "And I have a feeling, if our places had been switched, he wouldn't have been called in." Scrimgeour leaned back in his chair, his eyebrows lowered again.

"Are you insinuating that I can't run my department," he inquired with a sharpness in his voice.

"I think there's more going on in this Department than you are aware," Terry retorted just as sharply. "One of your Aurors is actually a Death Eater and tries to kill me. Then there's another man who says he's an Auror yet no one has ever seen him before and he hasn't been seen since."

"Who?" Scrimgeour inquired with his usual reserve. His tone wasn't of interest, in fact, Terry felt it was a challenge. Terry sighed as he leaned back in his chair. In his mind he pictured the bearded man with the piercing blue eyes. He had very little to go on and he knew it.

"There's a man," he paused and sighed again, well aware of the foolishness in his description. "He's got a beard and long hair. His name is Abe and he says he's an Auror. I met him last night, he was attacked and I stepped in," Terry said. His gaze dropped to the floor as he waited for a reply. Scrimgeour observed him. A moment passed where he was absolutely still. Terry lifted his gaze out of discomfort. He expected Scrimgeour to take a second just to hear what Terry said, but Scrimgeour's silence was different; it was contemplative. He sharply inhaled as he straightened in his chair.

"Never heard of him," he answered, returning his gaze to his desk. He reached for a quill on his desk, dabbed it in ink before writing in it with a stiff scrawl on the document on his desk. Terry scoffed in exasperation, slowly shaking his head with disgust. "Mr. Yale, you are hereby discharged from the Auror Department and banned from the Ministry of Magic. You will receive a notice from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement concerning your hearing before the Wizengamot. Until then, your wand is confiscated for evidence." Fuming with anger, Terry shot from his chair.

"I didn't do anything!" he shouted. Scrimgeour looked up at Terry with his stern glare.

"You should consider yourself lucky, Mr. Yale. Normally you would be escorted directly to Azkaban until your hearing." Terry stepped back from the desk, boiling within. He couldn't believe what was happening. Scrimgeour swiftly wrote out the last part of the document. Suddenly the tawny owl flew down to the desk top with a flutter of its wings. He sealed the document then held it up to the bird's beak. Obediently, the owl clamped down on the folder then took off, flying right past Terry. Scrimgeour's door swung open with a slight creak allowing the bird to soar straight through the entry. With a confused, angered face, Terry turned back around and walked out the door following the owl. As he stepped through the doorway and onto the Auror department floor, the door to the office closed. The high, arched ceiling loomed above like a night sky with the black marble tiling reflecting the lights like stars. Only a handful of witches and wizards were still among the maze of cubicles. He crossed the open, navy blue carpeted walkway which encircled the cramped office space and trudged forward with heavy steps. Weaving between the thin, short walls of the cubicles, he found his own three rows down, off to the right. The desk along the wall of the cubical had little on it, including a table lamp, ink bottle and quills with few papers strewn on top. In the corner, a frozen picture of a family beamed at whomever looked their way. Pinned to the wall of the cubical was a map of London surrounded by wanted posters and the mugshots of various Death Eaters. Their fierce, crazed stares were wide and mad; silently shouting at him as he would sit at his desk. Terry stepped up to his table, looking around him shaking his head. It was over. Three years of training and seven years of strenuous study all gone in a matter of seconds. Years of hunting and tracking the Death Eaters all wiped away. Terry slid the chair away from the table and plopped onto it. His slouching forward, he dropped his head and rested his hands on the back of his neck. Terry looked up from the floor to the pinned posters, they were laughing at him, all of them; they'd won. He lost but not because he was weak, but because the good guys were broken, corrupt. Instantly his thoughts rested on the prospect of the court hearing, it meant nothing to him, no justice would be served. He gruffly cleared out his throat before taking a deep breath as his mind rested on a decision. He pushed away from the desk and stood up. Reaching under the table, he retrieved an empty cardboard box. One by one, he pulled free the pins from the wall by hand and allowed the map and photographs to drift to the table. He quickly scooped them into the box with a snarl on his lips and force in his movements. After placing the desk lamp in the box on top of the crumpled map, his hand reached out for the last object on his desk. The picture frame encased a black and white photograph. His family smiled at him from behind the glass. His Father and Mother were shoulder to shoulder with only himself sitting in front of them with his Mother's hand rested on his shoulder. Gently he placed the picture in his box. Grabbing his long trench coat which hung from the back of his chair, he pulled it on. Terry walked away, emerging from the cubicles and stiffly stepped down the walkway to the grand oak doors at the end. At his approach, the doors parted and allowed Terry into the hallway of the second floor to the Ministry of Magic. The walk was short before the circular hall curved around the corner to the awaiting lift. Inside a short, stout wizard wearing a dark green uniform with a short cap. With heavy bags under his aged eyes, he watched Terry approach. The lift operator slid open the brass gate with a clang. Terry glanced his way sourly as he stepped to the rear of the lift and turned around to lean against the wooden paneling of the lift. The operator then shut the gate with another metallic clang.

"Where to?" the operator inquired with a glance over his shoulder. Terry shot his gaze sternly his way.

"Atrium," he answered bitterly. The operator nodded slowly then pressed the button on the on the panel with an eight shining on it. Immediately, the lift suddenly retracted backwards before stopping abruptly. Then the lift shot up the vast open shaft. As the lift climbed higher and higher, the awkwardness of the silence developed; but Terry preferred it that way.

"Long day eh?" asked the operator. Terry didn't answer, instead focused on the ceiling with dangling handles to help brace against the abruptness of the lift's movements.

"See you got a box there, you get transferred?"

"Sod off," Terry muttered. The lift suddenly stopped then moved forward. The operator slid open the gate then stepped aside without a word. Terry made his way past him. The large, golden fountain loomed ahead. Terry round the corner and made his way down the vast arched hallway. His footsteps on the dark wood floor echoed in the emptiness of the hall as he made his way to a lonely red phone booth in the middle of the hall. He resented having to take the visitor's entrance. The main Floo network was locked and he was powerless without his wand. With one hand, he opened the door and stepped into the booth. On the dial of the phone, he spun in the combination 6, 2, 4, 4 and 2. A second flashed by before the booth suddenly rose from the floor and Terry watched the Atrium disappear as the booth was swallowed by sudden darkness. Through the window of the door, saw the booth suddenly emerge above ground into the cool night air with a clicking sound with each inch it ascended. The street was empty and well lit by the many light posts along the sidewalk. With a latching sound, the booth rested in place, looking like any ordinary, red phone booth on the streets of London. Terry pushed the door open and stepped outside into the night streets. He rounded the right corner of the street and sulked his way down the sidewalk.

"Hello, Terrence," a strong, voice said softly in the night air. Terry paused where he stood and his eyes narrowed. He knew that voice. In a flash of movement, he dropped the box and spun around. His hands clamped down on the panels of the tall wizard's long coat as he shoved him into the dark green garage door behind him. As he slammed into the metal, it rang with a crash.

"You!" Terry snarled. Abe groaned from the impact and eased his piercing blue gaze on Terry's anger scrunched face.

"Of course," he chuckled. "I've always been me."

"Stop it," Terry snapped as he shoved Abe into the door again. "You say you're an Auror but I haven't seen you since that night," he said. Again, Abe chuckled.

"Of course you haven't, because I've been watching you," Abe answered calmly despite Terry's aggression. His face was contorted with confusion.

"What!" Terry exclaimed. He scoffed with frustration and shoved Abe even harder. "I swear to God, you don't tell me who you really are right now, you'll be choking on your own beard," Terry growled.

"Really," Abe replied simply. He then began to laugh. "That's a new one. I already told you who I am," he said calmly with a grin through his thick, trimmed beard. "I am called Abe, I'm an Auror just like you." Terry's glare softened then he slowly released his coat and backed away.

"No, not anymore," he replied. "I've been sacked," he spat as he gave a slight kick to the box on the ground.

"No you haven't," Abe said with a simple shake of his head. Terry frowned as he stared at the bearded wizard whom stepped forward and adjusted his coat.

"What?" he asked.

"Well on the records yes you have. But by the understanding of Minister Bagnold, Barty Crouch, Scrimgeour and Boyd Serrand, you are still a part of the Auror Department." Terry frowned and gave Abe a quizzical stare.

"I'm unfamiliar, who's Boyd Serrand?" Abe reached into his coat and drew a wand by the tip from an inside pocket. Terry scanned the ten and a half inch, ash carved wand with a Centaur mane core; it was his. He didn't even question how the wand made its way from Scrimgeour's desk into Abe's possession. Terry reached out to grasp it. Instead, Abe withdrew it.

"Are you sure you really want to know?" he asked with a raise of his bushy eyebrows. Slowly Abe lowered Terry's wand back within reach. Terry accepted it and slid it back in the sheath beneath his arm; giving a single nod in acknowledgement. Abe grinned from behind his trimmed beard.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Hood

"1877, 1878, 1879," Terry raffled under his breath. His eyes scanned the doorways of the buildings to his left, reading the brass, metal numbers. His mind was like bees buzzing around a hive busy with the last nights events. Before bidding him a good night, Abe had given Terry an address. He wasn't able to get a single bit of sleep as he thought tirelessly of the address and wondered what it had to offer for him. All he knew was that it meant he was still an Auror, but it wasn't enough and he wanted answers. Terry passed another block of addresses before stopping at a small, dark green, dingy shop. The windows were draped with thin, bright colored covers. On the window of the door was an intricate decal design with the name Diger Taraftain gold above the 'closed' sign. Terry paused before the door, took a deep breath then stepped inside. The bell hanging from the door rang at his entry. As he entered, a thick smoke seemed to envelope the small shop. The inside was humid and hazzy. Strange, clothing hung off of few circular racks off to the far right of the shop while tall wooden shelves displayed obscure objects. The main counter against the left wall was covered by an intricate frayed cloth. Two small trails of smoke seeped endlessly from the blackened wicks of candles. Through the smog and blurriness of the smoke, Terry scanned over the gypsy shop warily, his hand close to his concealed wand. Two heavily lidded eyes peered through the haze and latched on Terry till he noticed them. Seated behind the counter with a copy of the Daily Prophet lightly held in her long thin fingers was an extremely slim, pale, gypsy woman wearing a silk wrap of dark red around her enticing form. Terry slowly stepped up to the counter, a small smirk crept awkwardly on his face.

"I'm uh," he started. The woman held up her hand to silence him.

"Follow," she said simply with a darkly toned voice. As she stood up and waved for him to follow, Terry glanced around before following. She led him around the counter to an area in the rear of the room Her long dress draped on the wooded floor of the shop and hid her feet completely as she glided across the room. The gypsy woman pulled away the curtain to reveal a changing room. Terry observed the inside skeptically while she stood beside it with her hand impatiently on her hip. The circular alcove like area was empty with a single, wooden framed mirror that hung on the back wall.

"Inside," she instructed.

"Of course," he sighed as he took a hesitant step into the alcove. From behind the curtain closed around him. Terry glanced around, puzzled with his next move.

"Touch the hand," the gypsy's voice seemed to echo from the other side. Terry frowned as his gaze darted about him, finally spotting the hand's reflection in the mirror. Terry turned around and saw the image of the green hand print stitched into the dark blue thick material of the enveloping curtain. Terry looked from the reflection and back to the stitching three times before finally raising his own hand in front of his face. Hastily, he brought it to the curtain, pausing just as it hovered over the fabric. Again he frowned, noting the thumb of the fabric was pointed in the other direction. He turned his head back to the mirror to find the reflection which already matched his own hand. With a grin of approval, he instead brought his hand to the surface of the mirror. He only made contact on the flat reflective surface for a fraction of a second before he felt his feet leave the ground. His entire body felt as if it was condensed and crumpled before he finally stretched back out to its normal state. Terry had never before felt the sensation before. Though it was slightly familiar and not unlike apparition, it was still different and not what he was used to. He recovered quickly and found he was standing in a large, empty, concrete room. The cool, stone, grey tone of the room was illuminated by the light from outside which leaked through a set of small, rectangular windows which were positioned high along the ceiling. The room's emptiness was compensated by rows thick, concrete columns which reached from the ceiling to the floor. Positioned on the column before him, he found another mirror perfectly identical with the one found in the Gypsy's shop, save one detail. Scratched into the mirror's surface with magical precision was a the outline of a hand print, a ghostly impression from the reflection found in the changing booth. Terry grinned again with fond approval.

"Well done, you past the first test," Abe blurted from behind. Startled, Terry, leaped on his toes and spun around, diving his hand to the handle of his wand concealed in the sheath under his arm. Abe stepped into view from behind one of the concrete columns. Terry scoffed as he relaxed his stance and rested his hand away from his wand. Despite the firm build of the broad shouldered man, Abe was surprising adept in concealing himself.

"Test?" Terry inquired as he took light steps toward him.

"If you're not clever enough to solve our little puzzle in the shop, you have no business with our detachment," Abe explained. With a large hand, he then motioned for Terry to follow. Abe took off with heavy steps through the columns to the far end of the room towards a set of wooden doors. "It nearly took Finch ten minutes to put it all together."

"How did that work by the way?" Terry inquired.

"It's a specially designed kind of Portkey. The hand was cut from the mirror then enchanted before being resealed to the rest of the mirror. The devil of the task was getting the two mirrors to connect between each other," Abe added with a mused tone. Terry frowned as he followed after him.

"That was your idea?" he inquired.

"One of my more brilliant ones, yes," he replied with an all too familiar look in his eyes. Again Terry was annoyed by not being able to pinpoint exactly where Terry had seen it before. Abe turned the dark, metal knob and slowly pushed open the door. Holding it wide open he motioned for Terry to enter. With a single long stride, he stepped through into the long rectangular room. As he slowly walked on the thin, rough carpet which spanned through the entire room, he was instantly attracted to the view overlooking London. The entire front wall of the penthouse was three large windows that nearly reached from the floor to the ceiling. With a small smirk of fondness, Terry gazed over the gray of the city's morning. From what he could tell, he was on the top floor of one of the tallest buildings in all of London. From behind, a crack shot from the far corner of the area. Terry snapped his gaze over his shoulder with his hand hovering readily in his coat. His stance relaxed again as a grin spread on his face. Standing across the room, was a woman, poised and focused with her small hands slowly aloft over her hip. She faced the far wall with her back and blonde, ponytail to him, all her attention focused on the black, plastic mannequin positioned against the wooden paneled wall.

"Go," she said suddenly with a sweet yet solid toned voice. The mannequin replied, springing to action, moving as if it was a real person. In its hand was a fake wand. The figure rose its wand over its head as if it were executing a spell. The woman snapped her wand from her pants pocket and fired off a burst of red energy, striking the mannequin dead in the chest. The mannequin suddenly exploded into multiple pieces. Various pieces of black plastic flew across the room. Terry watched as the head rolled across the light colored carpet to his feet.

"Damn it woman, will you quit that infernal racket!" a man's irate voice growled from behind Terry. His attention was pried from the woman's fit form as she turned around to find a man standing in the entryway of a wooden cubical. His hair, like the woman's was blonde a kept tidy and rather short. Held in his hand was a mug with the tag of teabag dangling from the edge. His face was red with annoyance, huffing as he glared at her. The woman rose her hand to her mouth as she giggled. Terry knew immediately what brought about her fit of laughter. A large, wet, dark stain was on the torso of his green sweater. The man ignored the woman's giggling, shaking his head as he pointed the tip of his own wand at the stain. Before Terry's eyes, the stain was siphoned away then emptied back into the mug. It didn't take long for the man to look up from his newly cleaned sweater and find Terry watching him. His green tinted eyes observed Terry for a moment before flicking sharply to the doorway.

"Aberforth," he said simply with a nod. Before Terry could react to the strangeness of the name, Abe loomed at his side and placed a large hand on Terry's shoulder.

"Boyd, this is Terrence Yale," he said. Boyd looked to Terry again with an unrevealing face. From the looks of the blonde haired wizard, he was at least 38 and a seasoned, stern faced veteran. With staggered, defined strides, he approached them.

"Terrence," Boyd repeated with an out stretched hand.

"Terry," he grinned as he returned the greeting. Boyd paused mid shake before smiling fondly.

"Okay, Terry then," he said. The both of them released hands then Boyd offered a stool positioned around a long, tall, wood table. Terry approached the red padded stool and seated himself at the edge of the table. Boyd eased onto the stool at the end, observing Terry with wide, green eyes. "As you've been informed, I am Boyd Serrand, the chief of this detachment." Terry glanced over at Abe, leaning against the window beside the table overlooking the meeting. "Aberforth says you're just the right man for the job," Boyd paused. His eyebrows shot up with a quizzical stare.

"I'd be more than willing to tell, if someone would tell me exactly what the job is," Terry replied directly. Boyd observed him a second longer before smirking subtly.

"What do you know so far?" he asked.

"Only that I was sacked from the Department," Terry answered coolly. "Yet I'm still an Auror." Boyd nodded in reply.

"You are. We all are," he reaffirmed.

"So what is this?" Terry asked. His eyes gazed over the entire room, lingering on the woman standing beside the shattered mannequin. With a wave of her wand, the mannequin's pieces collected at its feet then reassembled itself together. Terry's gaze quickly found its way back to Boyd.

"Not what, more like who. Myself, Aberforth here, a man named Finch Kruger and Halley Serrand," he listed off with a pointed finger to each of them. Terry frowned, looking from Boyd to Halley.

"Serrand?" he repeated, pivoting on his stool towards the woman in the back. The sudden attention from the table caused her to turn around. Her slim, form was accented by the white, wool turtleneck she wore; bringing a grin to his face. With brisk steps, she walked down the room past the table and into the second cubical. A second later, a drape was suddenly pulled closed over the entry.

"My sister," Boyd explained with a sharp look in his green eyes. He inhaled vocally to return focus. "To those who are privileged enough to know, we are known as Hood." Terry paused and shifted in his stool.

"And what does Hood do?" he asked coolly. Boyd turned in his stool and stood up, pacing by the table while still fixed on Terry whom sat at the table.

"The Ministry is under siege Terry, even if most of them don't know it. That's one of the reasons why you're here," he said with a point at Terry. "You of most know for a fact, the Ministry is compromised. Terry gave a sour look at Boyd as he played back in his mind the attack in the alley behind the Goblin's Goblet.

"So you believe me," Terry said. Boyd paused then flicked his wand from his pocket toward his cubical. Suddenly a gray office file flew across the room and into his hand. Impressed, Terry looked from the cubical to the gray file in Boyd's grasp. "Does every one know how to do that?" Terry quipped.

"Everyone with four years of school under their belt," Boyd remarked as he placed the file in front of him. Terry opened the file. The picture inside was of a short, wizard with a broad smile on his round face. Terry's grip on the file suddenly tightened.

"Fellant," he uttered bitterly.

"We've had our suspicions of Roddick Fellant for a month now. Scrimegour wasn't buying into it, until last night. We know for a fact, You-Know-Who has supporters on the inside," Boyd stated darkly. "Until now it was actually unclear to what extent the Auror Department has been affected, but this would be the third identified spy since the breach of '76." Terry knew of the event well as it was just a week after his graduation from the Auror Academy. "All we know for sure is Scrimgeour is clean and well aware that he can't flat out trust most of the Department. That's where Hood comes in," Boyd said. Terry looked up to the wizard standing at his side, his hands buried in the pockets of his slim khaki slacks.

"So we're I.A.?" he inquired. Boyd shook his head and continued slowly around the table.

"Not primarily, no. We're a separate detachment of the Department," Boyd explained. "We operate under Scrimgeour's command but don't follow the rest of the Department."

"Sounds like Scrimgeour could use more help then," Terry said as an aside to himself. "Why downsize," he asked.

"Security through minority," Boyd said with a slight shrug. "The less people that are involved, the tighter the seal and therefore, we stay invisible to the Ministry." Terry's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"So, we don't exist," he said.

"There are very few that have confirmation of our operations," Boyd said with a nod. He paused and fixed Terry with a strong gaze. "Then there are few Aurors whom have, to say the least, grown suspicious." Terry felt the underlying meaning behind Boyd's gaze. To say the least, he was slightly discomforted by it.

"Hard not to," Terry mused poorly to alleviate the tension. Boyd suddenly looked to Abe leaning against the window.

"Where are we at with that by the way?" he inquired airily. Abe smiled and laughed.

"Last Alastor knows, I'm just a bartender," he said with amusement. Terry frowned in Abe's direction but shook it away as Boyd drew back his attention.

"Anyway," he said with cough. "What do you think?" Terry looked over at Abe. The tall wizard's piercing blue eyes were fixed on him solemnly, waiting for a reply. He then looked back to Boyd. A grin formed on his mouth as he stood up from the table and looked Boyd straight in the eye.

"I think you found yourself another man."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Door 39

The night was heavily shrouded by the dark clouds which lofted high in the sky. In the alley, a thin, dark haired cat rummaged through the knocked over can of trash. A sudden gust of black fog suddenly struck the hard, cold ground and materialized into a man. Instantly after landing, he flicked a large, dark hood over the sleek ponytail of blonde hair on his head. His face was covered by a full, iron mask, with the impression of a sinister scowl. As he strode down the alley, the cat turned away from the littered trash and hunched angrily, hissing and spitting with disdain. The man ignored the cat, walking by. Each step he took was graceful, overflowing with ego and class. As he rounded the corner and stepped onto the sidewalk, another shadowy figure approached up ahead. Just as the other, her long flowing black and maroon hooded cloak overshadowed her face, also concealed by a similar metal mask. The extremely slender figure moved with a swiftness in her steps. She was sharp and dangerous. The man paused at the steps to building, awaiting her approach.

"Seems I'm not the only one to receive this, summoning," the man quipped slyly. She paused across from him.

"The message dictated no outside interaction," she replied with an icy, sharp tone.

"As well as the use of false names and masks," he added with pitiful amusement. The woman glared at him from behind her mask, giving her face a narrow, pointed shape. She slowly leaned her mask in closer to him, neck uncoiling like the body of a serpent.

"Careful, your arrogance will be your decline." The man stood solidly, taking the hint of disdain from her sharp voice. She brushed by him, gliding over the short steps to the door. Her pale, slender forearm was exposed as her robe's sleeve dropped away with the flick of her wand. Though it flashed by in a rapid blur, the man caught the glimpse of the slithering black tattoo. The door suddenly clicked as the lock unlatched. The man's long strides carried him to the door faster. He stood beside the door frame, pushing the door open and holding it in place for the woman. Though her face was concealed, resentment burned through the slits of the eyes as she stepped through and into the short hall of the apartment lobby. The small dingy gray hall's staircase was merely steps away from the door. The man followed distantly the end of her robes as they swept up the stairs. After climbing three floors they arrived to a short hallway. Down at the far end of the hall was their door. After just barely approaching the door, it cracked open. Through the crack, the woman saw the glimmer of an iron mask surveying each of them.

"Aw, Kali and Hanuman," a heavily accented voice said welcoming first the woman then the man. The man called Hanuman allowed the woman to enter first before taking his own dignified steps inside. After entering, the greeter merely waved his hand and the door closed lightly. Hanuman was perturbed by the name. He had absolutely no shame of who he was and usually made it a point that all around him knew who he was. Hanuman observed the man with a slightly lifted chin.

"And what do we call you?" he asked pointedly.

"To you, I am Indra," the man replied darkly. Indra's common apparel revealed no single detail as to who he might be. The only hint provided to Hanuman was his relatively average height yet massive build which showed through the formfitting tunic.

"Then I take it, you sent the summons," Hanuman said.

"That I did," Indra answered.

"Fitting, Indra the king of Hindu gods," he mused. "Why the names and masks?" Indra stood solidly, merely pointing towards the living room.

"You shall soon see." Hanuman's lip curled, unsatisfied with the answer. He gracefully walked to the living room where he found a shadowy assembly. The room was dark, closed off from whatever light may come through the windows. A single table was situated in the room with four simple chairs around it. Three of the four were occupied. The woman called Kali sat rigid and silently in one of them, flanked by two others similarly garbed in dark toned robes, hooded with iron masks replacing their faces. Hanuman made his way to the last available chair at the of the table. Gracefully, he seemed to drift with ease onto the seat. Sitting upright with near perfect posture, he observed his fellow Death Eaters through the holes for his gray eyes. Little could be discerned to differentiate one from the other except that one was tall and thin while the other was fairly thick. Seconds later, Indra strode into the room with his hands clasped together at his chest and stood before the table, all eight eyes peered at him through their masks. "As to the conditions of this meeting, no one is to know you are here," he said darkly. "No faces and no real names. The purpose of these meanings dictates absolute discretion. Each of you has been given a name in your summons." One by one, Indra indicated with an open hand to the each of them.

"Hanuman, Murugan, Kali and Krishna. Rightfully so, I am Indra. Of course I know your real names."

"Then why should we trust you? Whats to stop you from crossing us for the Ministry?" said the thin Death Eater seated beside Hanuman whom gave him a sideways glance. The cool tone of the one known as Murugan was unmistakably his fellow classmate from nine years prior, Anton Travers. Hanuman smirked smugly to himself in having cleared part of the fog shrouding the meeting's mystery.

"You should feel security in the fact that I fear the Dark Lord far more than a cell in Azkaban," Indra said boldly. The four Death Eaters looked to each other before returning their attention to the broad shouldered man up front. "He has a task of crucial importance which has been bestowed upon me." From nearly nowhere, Indra drew his wand and waved it high over his head. From the tip, a glowing stream of energy seeped from the tip of his wand and wove itself into a slowly rotating globe. Floating over the center of the table was a magical projection of the world; the glow illuminated the iron masks with a warm, orange glow. Indra lowered his wand and folded his hands in front of him. "The Dark Lord looks to expand his domination." Indra waved his wand once and the rotating, glowing globe over the table collapsed then formed into a projection of the United Kingdom. "Though he focuses here on the home land, he knows it is not enough, and where the true power is," he said darkly, waving his wand once again. The projection collapsed as before then molded itself into an image of a familiar body of land. The thick Death Eater known as Krishna scoffed skeptically.

"America? The Americans are weak," he boasted foolishly. Again a false name and mask couldn't hide the proud, arrogance of one of the Dark Lord's close servant's nephew, Milton Mulciber. Hanuman sat even straighter than before, gloating loudly in his mind.

"Their knowledge of the magical arts are young and pitiful, they are no real threat," Kali, hissed coldly.

"Yes, but to the muggles, they are the power of the world," Indra pointed out. If the Dark Lord is to control the world he must crush that power. At this time with their economy at a low point, five years out of a war and another brewing with the Soviets, America will fall." Hanuman lowered his chin for the first time, intrigued by Indra's presentation.

"You plan to do this with only the five of us?" he asked. Indra looked to Hanuman with interest.

"No," he stated. "We will instigate. Servants of the Dark Lord are everywhere. It is time for them to prove their loyalty."


End file.
